


Ad Locum: Inferno

by lazlong



Series: Fool's Errand [3]
Category: Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell, NCIS
Genre: 30 minute writing challenge, F/F, F/M, Freedom, Inflation, M/M, Past Drug Use, Promiscuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 10:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14187309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazlong/pseuds/lazlong
Summary: Nobody is going to tell her what to wear or drink, or shoot up, for that matter.





	Ad Locum: Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no beta. All the fun - my precioussss!

“Reality is just a crutch for people who can't handle drugs.” ― Robin McLaurin Williams

With each decade she became more and more like cat: never binding herself to a person or place, never ever submitting, never promising anything at all.. delivering, yet, when it suited her.

_It was glorious time, wasn't it. If she did not know better, how it will end, she would have been. Ring, house and all that jazz._

But, first of all, she was not redhead. Never have been. Well, at least, not for long Never intended to be. Pun implied.

Second... as lovely as threesomes has been / still are - there still was a lot to be desired.  Oh.. how exciting it was, to never know beforehand. Never knowing who will father the next of the brood. And she really took pride in birthing them. Raising? Not so much, after the last case went over oh-so-well.

Third, anybody needs anything else? Well, if you insist. Freedom is a lovely thing, the best drug she knows.

And there is vast grounds for comparison, for her - as some people count time by birth and death of relatives (she does not. count. not this. but remembers.), she recalls decades by drugs of choice and fashions, ever changing fashions: after all, the cognac and the mutilated curtains was just the first baby step, a rhapsody in emerald green. Morphine and red, sinful dress, oh, that had been so good - heady, all the pain vanishing. Something good came out of carpetbaggers, at least for some time - when the constant haze began to anger, instead of calming, she did what she have done always, when fed up - just quit, anger burning bright, hatred for herself and all the world rising, shedding the skin. Of course, not the last one, there is endless supply of them. The more the dresses - blue, black, green -  got tighter, higher, more and more boring.. the more heroin, cocaine or any other over-the-counter _aid_ tempted her. Mind, she did not give in easily, morphine in too vivid memory...yet, oh, how they tempted, promising relief; comfort of forgetting, fright of it.

Then there was jazz and blessed drag of cigarette, focusing the anger; bob, burning bright and skirt _just_ _around_ the knee. Well, that was the life  as it should always be: vivid, splendid and lot admirers, to be enjoyed by night, forgotten by dawn.

Then, something started to tighten and it was not trice-damned part of clothing; something was changing in the city and business, making her irritable and impossible..  the last warning for her in long line of red flags, popping up last year, was July, 28th - when the first advertisement of those chicken-hearted, double-faced cowards appeared - with couple of inches added to the model's skirt, for _adventurous_ gal.

Blast it, she got it right and left first, overnight: in a fit of vicious temper, selling the business for a half of price but in solid gold; in hot suffocating July 29. Left to have her fix of the best drug in the world – doing whatever and whenever damn she pleases.


End file.
